In this chapter:
""It's like I'm eating for two," she said, absent-mindedly.
John froze in his spot, holding his pint mid air.
No, she hadn't just...
That wasn't possible."
CHAPTER 13
John rested his sweaty head over Mary's naked breasts. He was still enjoying the aftershocks, feeling her ragged breath on his forehead and her pounding heart on his chest.
"I love you," he heard her say and felt her kiss his hair line. It made something warm and fuzzy explode in his chest, as it always did.
He propped himself on his elbows and kissed her nose. "I love you, too."
John disentangled their bodies and disposed of the condom. The effort of having to support his own body seemed too much at that moment, so he returned to his previous position, adjusting his head on Mary's breasts.
That was one of his favourite places in the whole world.
After a few minutes, sleep came crashing into him and he moved off of her, lying on his side, facing her. Mary had her eyes closed; her skin still had goosebumps on it. John traced her forearm, feeling them under his fingertips.
He liked that he was capable of doing that to her – loved it, really.
From the very beginning, John and Mary had been incredible partners in bed. Mary wasn't like those women who felt the need to fool their partners about their orgasm. Mary was determined and demanding. It had always made him want to earn her pleasure. It made him feel like a bloody teenager sometimes.
He watched her slowly come back to herself and turn on her side to face him. Her eyes always had a special glow in them after sex.
"Hello," he said, taking one of her hands and lacing their fingers. "Good?" He couldn't help but ask.
Mary smirked at him. "Oh, yes," she answered, snuggling her pillow and tracing John's knuckles.
John unfolded one of their sheets and covered them both. They were too tired to even think about showering, and clothes were completely unnecessary. He turned off the lamp beside him and got closer to Mary, enfolding her with his right arm. Her hand came on top of his immediately.
"You were here today," she said, and her voice had something almost liquid in it.
"I am always here," he said, smiling, despite the fact that she couldn't see him in the dark.
"Sometimes you're not," she countered. And even though John couldn't see her features, he could feel her puffs of breath on the tip of his nose.
"I'm quite sure I am always here," he insisted, letting their quiet talk lull him to sleep. After a three days of crime fighting and a night of sex, his body didn't want anything other than rest.
Mary snorted and squeezed his hand.
At her silence, John frowned lightly. Did she mean anything by that? Was that really a complaint?
John couldn't help but feel a bit guilty. It wasn't personal, he supposed. He was just a bit out of it. It being absolutely everything, since his head was really a mess and he couldn't stop worrying all the time.
"And there you went again," Mary smiled. John could hear it in her voice.
He opened his eyes and sighed. "I'm sorry, love."
"Is it something I can help with?"
John snorted. He sincerely doubted anyone would ever be able to help him. Therapists hadn't been able to, it was unfair to ask it of Mary.
Quite frankly, he didn't even know what he needed help with. Or if he needed help, in the first place.
"No," he said, kissing her shoulder. "It's...nothing, really."
It was nothing.
He didn't know how he could possibly start this conversation. My best friend came back from the dead, and I still can't get over it? It just didn't seem right.
"Let's have dinner tomorrow, just the two of us," Mary said.
John smiled. "Are you asking me on a date, Miss Morstan?"
Mary laughed, low and intimate. "I bloody am, Doctor Watson," she whispered, kissing him fully on the mouth.
John straightened his tie, looking himself in the mirror of the restroom.
Mary had insisted they have dinner at the restaurant where John had proposed to her. Or the one where he would have, if Sherlock had let him. John had found the idea as good as any other until he had arrived there and all those memories had assaulted him without asking permission.
It wasn't anything as violent as a panic attack, of course. It was just an eternal discomfort about the waiters and the scenario around him.
But Mary was so thrilled that John decided to ignore his own never ending drama for a night. She deserved it.
He came back to their table to find Mary perusing the menu.
"So, have you decided yet?" He asked, sipping the glass of water.
She looked at him with a comical expression on her face. "Honestly?" She asked, as if she had some secret to tell him.
John just raised an eyebrow at her.
"I want to have fish and chips," she said, and it made John laugh out loud.
"Couldn't you have thought about that before we got dressed up, love?" He asked between giggles. He was wearing a tie, for god's sake.
"I know," she said, fidgeting with her earring, like she always did when embarrassed.
"Well, go on, then," John said, getting ready to stand up.
"Oh, no, no," Mary told him. He could tell she wanted to leave, but that she felt awfully guilty for having made them go there in the first place.
John was amused.
It hadn't been any effort, after all. One mention of the name Mycroft Holmes and he could get the chef's table, if he wanted to, and that was the truth.
He asked himself if he should feel bad about that. Sherlock would probably find it hilarious. John did, too, if he was honest.
All was good, then.
John decided to put them out of that misery. He rolled his eyes, feigning exasperation. "Let's go. I can't wait to have all that grease in my veins."
That made Mary's eyes shine childishly. It was a good look on her.
"Come on," he insisted.
They made their excuses to the waiter and left him a very good tip, considering he hadn't done more than bringing them the menu.
John and Mary walked down the street. He noticed they were doing the same itinerary they had done the day Sherlock had shown up in the middle of their dinner. He asked himself if Mary was aware of it.
She probably was.
They entered the first fish and chips shop they found.
The bell sound called attention to themselves, as if their clothes weren't enough to flash a light over their heads. John snorted thinking that they would be known as the fancy couple who attended all the fish and chips in the area.
Mary smiled at him and squeezed his hand. They ordered and found an empty table.
They had barely taken their seats and Mary was already digging into her food. She had an admirable appetite.
"God, I'm starving," she said, wiping her mouth in a paper napkin.
"I can see that," John laughed. The food was very good, so he could understand.
"It's like I'm eating for two," she said, absent-mindedly.
John froze in his spot, holding his pint mid air.
No, she hadn't just...
That wasn't possible.
They used condoms. Every time.
"Oh, my god, your face," Mary said, staring at him.
John cleared his throat and washed away the panic with a large gulp of beer. He couldn't help feeling guilty by his reaction.
"I'm not pregnant, John," Mary reassured him, with a small smile on her lips.
They ate in silence after that. John cursed himself for letting it spoil the mood of their date that had been lovely until that.
What if she had been pregnant? The thought made John feel like his tie was strangling him.
He had never thought about having kids – had never been the fatherly type, for that matter. But it had never scared him as much as now, probably because he had never been engaged to someone before.
Should he have been delighted by the prospect of being a father? he asked himself while tracing the table cloth with his right index finger.
His already inexistent desire to be a father grew to general terror in those few seconds it had taken Mary to deny it. He could feel the aggressive 'No' glowing on his forehead, pumping out of his pores like shock waves.
It made him feel unbearably sad.
What if Mary were pregnant? How would she have felt after John had such uncaring reaction?
God, he was such a dick.
"I'm sorry," he told her, taking one of her hand in his. "It caught me off guard," he said, dumbly.
Yes, that was understatement.
"We use condoms, John, in case you have forgot," she said, taping his palm with her index finger. "You don't have to worry."
John let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Yes, I know that," he said. "That was a completely immature reaction, anyway, and I'm sorry."
Immature. That was the word, isn't it?
John was more than forty years old, he should bloody well be prepared for starting a family. And he was – he was getting married and all.
But a child...
That wasn't something one could decide at a chip shop, in the middle of a dinner date.
And there wasn't much to decide anyway. John knew his gut reaction had been a sincere one. He couldn't be a father now.
He had a stable career, it was true. He was getting married, he loved Mary, but he just couldn't...
He didn't want to. Not now, anyway.
Not in the next few years, at least.
He couldn't father a child and go chase criminals with Sherlock.
Should that even be on his mind right now?
"God, would it be so bad if I was?" Mary asked, and even though her voice had a sing song tone in it, John could see she was a bit disconcerted by John's sudden withdraw.
Yes, John thought immediately, and felt terrible for it.
"No," he said, idiotically, sipping his pint to give himself some more time.
Mary wasn't stupid. His reaction had been clear enough.
"But it would be a bit sudden, wouldn't it? We never talked about that," John said, carefully. He wasn't rejecting the idea completely. But they did have to talk about that if it was something Mary was thinking about.
She should have bloody talked to him about it, in the first place.
John asked himself if it was strange that they were getting married and had never talked about having kids.
Or if it was stranger that he had never even thought about that.
"Well, we're getting married," she said, stubbornly.
"Yes," John concurred, entangling their fingers again. "But being parents is completely different, isn't it?" He asked, rhetorically.
It was completely different, for goodness' sake.
"I suppose so," she nodded, reluctantly.
John stood up and walked around the table, sitting himself beside her. He encircled her shoulders with his left arm. "We've got all the time in the world, love," John said.
He had to say that, for his own sake.
What if he never wanted to be a father? What if his priorities never changed?
What the hell was wrong with him?
Wasn't he a bit old to be putting crime solving and blogging about it on the top of his priorities?
Mary smiled at him, and he noticed it was sincere. He let his eyes wander through her face, thinking how beautiful she was.
She would be a gorgeous mother, John thought. All glow and bad moods.
He felt a pang in his heart. He should feel tempted by that. He did not.
"It's okay, John, it really is. Baby Watson can take its time," she said, kissing his cheek.
John giggled at that.
Baby Watson.
No.
"Can you imagine uncle Sherlock, what it will be like?" Mary asked, laughing out loud.
That thought gave John almost the same pause as the thought of being a father. His face made Mary laugh harder.
"He will definitely give our children small dead animals to dissect. Or their first chemist set," she said, drying tears of mirth from her eyes. "My god, I don't think I will want him near them that much. Only if you clean after them yourself."
John snorted. That was ridiculous.
Sherlock around children.
He couldn't think about that. Sherlock would never be an uncle – the thought of Mycroft having kids gave John the creeps.
Well, what if John really wanted to have kids someday? Uncle Sherlock would have to get used to it.
Yeah, John thought. John's kids would blow up their bedroom and John would have Sherlock to blame for.
Good god, what if Sherlock had kids?
John wasn't going there. No way. It was so ridiculous that made him giggle.
A blip of a text snapped him and Mary out of their subject.
SIG Sauer or a Browning as a personal handgun, you would say? - SH
John frowned at his phone. Sherlock knew bloody well he owned a Browning, and it was unlike him to ask stupid questions.
Mary tutted at the text. "Well, I'm going to the loo. Tell Sherlock hi for me," she said, giving John a peck on the lips.
For a retired army man. -SH
Ah.
How retired? Which nationally?
His father fought in WWII. He joined the army in the late 50s, retired in the 2001. English. Sussex. Royal Air Force. -SH
Walther. Is he a criminal?
Possibly. Probably. -SH
Walther PPK, maybe P99. Does he like guns?
Of course he does. -SH
Walther PPK-L.
As ever, John, you surprise me. -SH
John shrugged. He knew that kind of soldier. Well, Sherlock had gathered almost all the facts under the sun in his head. It was just fair that John knew at least something that he didn't.
You're welcome, he texted back, feeling pleased about it, nonetheless.
Mary returned to their table and sat, resting her head on John's shoulder. "What is he up to?"
John kissed her head. "Haven't the foggiest," he answered sincerely.
He had probably broken into the home of some retired army colonel slash big underground criminal to investigate and was peeking through the guy's arsenal. With a broken hand.
Shit.
He had probably done just that. John cursed himself for not paying attention to Sherlock's odd texts.
But how the hell was he supposed to know when the texts were odd? Considering Sherlock's average texting, those had been pretty normal.
John fidgeted in his seat.
Damn it.
What are you doing? He typed.
"Don't worry," Mary smiled at him. "He's probably fine."
How could John be sure of that? He couldn't forget the manila envelope staring back at him defiantly. Sherlock could bloody well be in danger, for all John knew.
Just being alive was motive enough for Sherlock to be in danger – that was the truth.
"Is he ever?" He mumbled.
Mary patted his cheek and kissed him on the lips. He felt her warm fingertips on his neck and opened his mouth to give her a proper kiss. Mary sighed happily into his mouth.
John tried to concentrate in it, but his mind kept wandering here and there, conjecturing about what could be happening with Sherlock at that moment. He hated it.
He squeezed his eyes shut and kissed Mary more hungrily.
Mary broke the kiss, if a bit reluctantly. "We, Mister, aren't teenagers anymore to be snogging in a fish and chips," she smiled at him.
John smiled back. He thought he had heard his phone blip, and lightened up the screen, full of hope of getting news from Sherlock.
His phone remained infuriatingly silent.
"Why are you so worried?" Mary asked him, somewhat annoyed. He supposed it made sense. He and Sherlock were bound to live dangerous lives, it was highly impractical that John would worry over the silliest texts. He just couldn't help it.
"Something is happening, Mary," he told her. He didn't know what he could say. She wasn't familiar with all the Moriarty drama, she couldn't possibly understand how serious it was that he had found the same envelope that had led them to Richard Brook and Sherlock's death.
He didn't want to address that again.
"What do you mean? What is happening?" Mary asked, worried.
"I don't know," he admitted, rubbing his face. "He won't tell me. He never tells me," and just talking about it made John agitated. "He might be in danger."
"He is always in danger," Mary told him.
Yes, and it makes me sick, he thought.
"This is different," he said, shaking his head, dejectedly. "I think it is, at least. He won't tell me, so it must be," John snorted bitterly.
Mary caressed his neck and shoulders. She looked at him as someone who knew exactly what John was talking about. She thought she knew, she had been there for some part of John's grief.
She had no idea, he kept thinking. Nobody had any idea of what John had gone through.
Of what he couldn't go through again.
He told himself to get a grip. Sherlock should be fine.
"Why don't you call him?" Mary asked.
John looked at his phone. He didn't want to disturb Sherlock while he was on a case, it could end up making everything worse.
John shrugged. "It can give him away or disrupt his work."
Mary rolled his eyes. "Then he won't answer, John. It as simple as that."
Exactly, John thought. And then John wouldn't be able to sleep until Sherlock had given him any sign of being alive.
Pathetic.
His phone buzzed on the table. But it wasn't a text, it was a phone call. Sherlock was calling, which was never a good thing.
He looked at Mary apologetically, but she just smiled at him, encouraging him to pick it up.
"Where are you, are you okay?" John asked. He sounded like a mother hen.
"I'm fine, John," Sherlock's voice poured into his ear like a refreshing ointment on an angry burn.
John squeezed his mouth shut to stop himself from showing how worried he had been.
"I know you were worried," Sherlock said. Maybe there was a hint of a smile in his voice. John didn't know for sure.
"You were asking me about guns!" John told him. "I thought you were breaking into a private arsenal or something," he replied, and felt his lips curve into a small smile.
"I'm home," Sherlock informed him. "I would never break into an arsenal without you, that would be idiotic."
John smiled at that. It felt like a compliment there somewhere. "What about this case, then?"
"Ah, boring. Cold case. Solved it this morning."
Morning?
A frankly ridiculous idea was starting to form in John's head. He looked at Mary and rolled his eyes to show her that Sherlock was being a prick.
"You were testing me, weren't you?" John asked, already knowing the answer by the laughter invading his ear.
Sherlock Holmes was definitely a twat.
"Well, how did I do?"
"Spot on, captain," Sherlock told him in a quiet voice that reminded John of quiet nights at Baker Street with tea and violin. Sherlock cleared his throat. "Walther PPK-L .22 with the year of his first big promotion imprinted on the barrel."
"Typical," John snorted.
John noticed that Mary had stood up and was putting on her coat. She smiled at him and showed him her wallet, motioning that she had already paid.
"Look," John said. "I have to go now."
"Of course. Good night, John," he said and his tone was still quiet, a soothing buzz in John's ear. "Say hi to Mary."
"I will. See you tomorrow," John said, without thinking. Would he?
"Indeed you will," Sherlock said before hanging up.
What?
Okay, then.
"Well?" Mary asked, entangling her left arm on John's as they walked out of the fish and chips.
"He's peachy, as ever."
Mary giggled.
When John felt the cold night air hit his cheeks, he felt happier than he had in a long time.
hello, you!
thank you all for the comments and for the kudos and for sticking with this fic. and thanks to my beta, whom I love very much.
I'm sorry for the (kind of) hiatus I fell into. I swear I'll try to keep the updates weekly.
You should check my tumblr (sureaintmebabe) for this fic updates! there is an all and the lonely hearts tag.